


Staying

by empathy_junkie



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Angst, Free-Verse Poetry, Friends to Lovers, I wrote this like two years ago, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, and wanted to keep it here, don't look at me, fUCK ME, first person POV, i love lettuce and tomato ok, idk my dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathy_junkie/pseuds/empathy_junkie
Summary: from tumblr; this is just a stupid poem about a stupid lettuce boy.





	Staying

I don't _stare._

It's just the birth of another unasked, unanswered question - blossoming in his face and hanging in the nape of my neck.

A reminder of the great laziness of our words, caught communicating the same, recycled hymn of separation.

He always gets the first note, and I've never found fault with his pitch. Not once. _Not once?_ Has the metronome never caught him off-guard - forcing him to substitute a syllable? His finger seems to be upon it instead. Echoing halls, low suns, and the dead girl's plea. He took them in, or allowed them to be. Allowed me to stay. Didn't let me win.

I would never have discovered that inside of my chest was constructed a new vessel, not for pumping blood, but for perpetuating a new kind of energy, were it not for the fact that I knew his apathy was a grievous lie. The smooth, even line of his eyes was the crest of a great wave, beneath which I could never hope to rise. My mouth filled with salt.

Yet in his words, the antidote to his own poison - the warmth in his vast winter, spilling forth from I know not where.

Do I truly not know?

It's been so many years. We've spent so many years in a contest of chivalry, keeping us bound by the mere virtue that we could both detect the same light that at times seems to erase portions of my vision, confounding my senses, bringing my hands into fists. It has brought something of a feverish glow to his eyes. I meet his gaze, and we both turn away.

And I _won't_ stare.


End file.
